


The Protection of My Body

by LallybrochLoser



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fertility Issues, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, If you were Team Fuck Frank before, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, chapters individually warned as well, more warnings TBA, then buckle up because you're gonna REALLY be shouting it from the rooftops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LallybrochLoser/pseuds/LallybrochLoser
Summary: Career criminal James Fraser is given two choices when he finally gets caught: rot in jail or work for MI6. He chooses the latter.His first mission is to protect a political diplomat, Frank Randall, and his wife Claire. But when Frank threatens Claire’s life, Jamie’s mission to protect her becomes personal. A passionate love affair, dangerous secrets of the past, unlikely traitors, and a coup d'état mean no one is safe.
Relationships: Brian Fraser/Ellen MacKenzie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Frank Randall, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 121
Kudos: 282





	1. Too Good To Be True

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Premiere Day!  
> This story has been a few months in the making, and I wanted to make sure I had a stock of chapters written, beta'd, and moodboarded so I could slow the crunch-writing sesh down lol. Expect a new chapter every Saturday! until I inevitably forget lol. Someone will remind me, right? [plz remind me]  
> Also, VERY IMPORTANT, while this story will revolve around the MI6, do not expect anything to be factually accurate. I did loose research on certain aspect of being an MI6 agent, but other than that, focus on the actual story of Jamie and Claire and not the technical aspects. Thanks.
> 
> Enjoy! Any comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, pterodactyl screeches, rage fits, and tears are humbly appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story starts off with Jamie Fraser getting caught during a high-stakes heist and Claire Randall worries about her husband’s reaction to some bad news. Again.

“Fuck all, man, I told ye tae be on lookout!”

“Aye, I was until they fuckin’ started shootin’ at me! What d’ye expect me tae do, offer ‘em tea?!”

He knew this job was just too good to be true. But what else could he have done? Turned it down? Said ‘no thanks mate I’ll wait fer the next one!’ Not a chance. Not with the life he lived. 

One hundred thousand pounds had been enough to convince him to take charge of the heist. Nothing more than a quick smash-and-grab. Get in, grab the quid, get out, Bob’s your uncle. With years of experience as a master thief, the job looked almost _too_ easy.

But when was anything in life ever easy? What was that saying again? “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is?”

All his previous jobs involved the same group of men. Except for this time, they had trusted someone new to have their backs. It was doomed before it ever started. He smelled a rat from the beginning and the new guy suddenly had a pair of large, buck teeth.

He could hear sirens in the distance, growing louder as they descended like vultures on the scene of his crime.

“We need to go!” He called into the back door of the building. Their supposed gateway to riches.

“The others arena back yet!”

“We canna leave them behind!”

“They shoulda thought about that ‘afore-”

“FREEZE!”

Both men did as they were told, though it was more on instinct since they could hear the distinct racking of shotguns being chambered with a round meant straight for their persons if they moved a muscle.

“DINNA MOVE! POLICE SERVICE O’ SCOTLAND!” The officer slowly moved towards the two crooks. “Keep yer hands atop yer heid where we can see ‘em, get down on yer knees, dinna speak!”

The men complied. Neither bothered trying to escape; it would certainly mean their deaths.

More noises behind them indicated that more officers were moving in to take them into custody.

The man who had originally commanded them spoke once more as cold, metal handcuffs were being placed on their wrists. From the men’s left, two more men were dragged out, already in irons.

“Gavin Hayes. Duncan Innes. Stephen Bonnet. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. All four of ye are under arrest fer aggravated robbery, conspiracy, intimidation, and murder.”

Fraser and Hayes were taken and shoved into the backs of separate cop cars, as were Innes and Bonnet. A moment of panic gripped Fraser’s heart.

All he knew about how to survive in the world came from being a pickpocket. Starting at the age of nine, he would pick random trinkets from passersby in order to buy food. Now, he stole on a much larger scale in order to feed his sister’s family.

He wanted to give in to the inevitable reality that his life, and by extension, his sister’s life, was over. However, something unknown to him gave him hope as the officer drove him to the local clink.

\---

“Mrs. Randall, the doctor will see you now.”

She walked into the small, windowless office with white walls bearing the occasional framed medical degree, ordinary professional furnishings, and a pressed particle board desk in the middle. An older black gentleman with salt-and-pepper dark hair boasting a traditional white lab coat, three-piece suit of tailored grey underneath, and a stethoscope draped around his neck to complete the ensemble, was sitting behind the desk.

“I take it you have the results?” The woman asked without preamble. She didn’t know why she even bothered asking anymore. She already knew the answer.

“You’re not pregnant, Mrs. Randall.”

Two feelings went through the woman at that moment. The first, a light wash of relief knowing once again she didn’t have that burden. The second, an anxious dread in the pit of her stomach over that same knowledge.

“Frank won’t be pleased, that’s for sure,” the woman said, sounding neither defeated nor relieved.

“Claire,” the doctor said, “may I be honest with you?”

Claire smiled. “Joe. You know you always can. Who else would I trust with this?”

The man relaxed his position a bit in his chair.

“Lady Jane, it’s been five years. Five years I have seen you struggle with Frank to start a family. Here’s the thing, LJ. It’s not you.”

“No?”

“No. See, your lab work shows that you are incredibly fertile. You would have no problem having a child...provided you had the right man to sire it.”

Claire flashed the man with a piercing amber glare, but couldn’t hold it. She knew he was right. Joe brought his hands up, palms facing her, in mock surrender.

“I can’t tell Frank, Joe,” Claire concluded, hanging her head in her hands. “He’s already on the warpath with his diplomacy career. He was recently named Minister of Health and Social Care. So, he’s now officially called The Right Honourable Frank Randall MP.”

“Quite an achievement for someone who used to be a history professor.”

“It is indeed. But you know what’s at stake now.”

“I do. But, in the spirit of being blunt, I have to say that...you won’t need to tell Frank anything. If he hasn’t already figured it out by now...it’s obvious who the sterile one in this marriage is.”

Another truth that hit Claire in the pit of her stomach. And yet, another truth she would have to pretend not to know about.

“I’m not saying that you should start finding another man to procreate with, LJ. But...if you were really looking forward to starting a family with Frank...you’ll forever be disappointed.”

She took the proffered paper, showing a blood test sporting a negative result, bade Joe farewell, and left the office.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall, former nurse and current wife of The Right Honourable Franklin Wolverton Randall, knew her dignitary husband wasn’t going to be pleased with her for not giving him a child.

She just hoped that his anger wouldn’t be quite so severe this time around. 


	2. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie is presented with an opportunity he knows he cannot afford to refuse, but is hesitant because of who is offering it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! It's still the 25th where I am so have an extra present! A wee bit of an early release ^_^ also I managed to get the chapter moodboard onto the page this time! YAY! Will be updating ch 1 in a bit. Enjoy!

In a past life, Claire would not have tolerated the way her husband of seven years, Frank, treated her. Actually, even just ten years ago, she would have sent the bugger out on his arse at the mere mention of him putting his hands on her.

But then again, a lack of physical contact doesn't always mean there's no abuse.

The beginning of their marriage had a year long honeymoon phase, a whirlwind of pure bliss. After their second anniversary had passed, Frank imposed on her the importance of prolonging the good Randall name.

"I want to have as many children as our bodies can produce, Claire. I am the only one of my bloodline left. The world needs more Randalls in it."

Naive and simple as she was back then, she agreed with the logic. Of course, having babies is part of any normal, healthy marriage, she reasoned with herself. She had never thought of the prospect of being a mother before, but wasn't opposed to the idea.

However, after the first three or four tries without success, Frank grew intolerant of her. Almost hostile, but not quite. He didn't dare raise a hand to her.

But he did...other things…

When Claire got home from Joe's clinic, Frank was already in a stupor, the bottle of gin a quarter of the way gone.

He dragged his head up to look at her, his eyes a glaze behind his glasses.

"Am I going to be a father this time?" He slurred.

_ No use trying to avoid it, Beauchamp. He’ll overreact no matter how long you wait. _

A deep breath, and an internal brace for impact. "No. I'm sorry Frank."

Another deep breath, a sigh, and the sound of the crystal tumbler flying through the air just to smash against the wall were all that followed.

\---

"Fraser?"

The redheaded man looked up at the sound of his name. He had been in a holding cell with three other strangers for the last few hours. None of the men spoke to one another, and all of them wore a jumpsuit that almost matched Fraser’s hair, were they not covered in long-dried blood stains from inmates long gone from the world.

In contrast, the guard calling for him had on the clean, permanently pressed uniform of Police Scotland, though the man’s missing eye detracted from its crispness. The badge that hung from his lapel read “H. Tompkins.” A large ring hung from his hands, displaying the gleam and clinking of at least a dozen keys, no doubt belonging to the individual holding cells.

"Aye," he grunted. It wasn't a question.

"Ye've a lawyer wantin' to speak tae ye."

Fraser furrowed his ruddy brows. "I dinna have a lawyer."

"Weel, unless ye wish tae be locked up fer the rest o’ the week, I'd say ye do, son. Up ye get!"

Fraser stood, walked past the other strange men, and displayed his clasped hands in front of him. The guard put the handcuffs on, snug and tight, and proceeded to unlock the door. Two other guards who rivaled the one in front of Fraser in size and girth flanked him to prevent the other men from escaping.

"Follow me. Dinna tarry, aye?"

Fraser did as he was told until they came upon what looked to be an interview room.

The guard lightly pushed Fraser into the room and pointed towards one of the chairs. 

"Sit ye down, hands on the table."

Still following orders, Fraser allowed the guard to secure his ironclad hands to a rebar hook cemented into the table.

"Yer man will be here in a bit. Dinna wander, aye?"

Fraser rolled his eyes and made a faux effort to try and break free from his chains.

"I shall endeavor tae try, sir."

The guard found some lingering amusement in his stupid joke, and his laughter carried down the hall long after he was gone.

The room was like one of those soundproof ones. If Fraser concentrated hard enough, he could hear his own heartbeat and the grunting complaints of his stomach; he hadn’t eaten anything worthy of being called ‘food’ in over a day. But before he could even begin to contemplate why a dank jail facility would need such a room, the door opened up.

He was tall, almost as tall as Fraser himself. Long, dirty blond hair was tied in the neatest ponytail he had ever seen. The man’s suit was one of those pinstriped ones, in luscious tones of dark brown and amber, a white tie secured at the base of his throat. He carried a small stack of manilla folders under one arm and a brown leather briefcase, no doubt containing a business laptop of the latest technology.

“James Fraser, I presume?” The man said, rather cheerfully given he was a Sassenach charged with being solicitor in the Highlands.

“If we’re tae be on a first name basis, sir,” Fraser said dryly, without looking up, “I’d rather ye call me Jamie.”

The man paused his motion of sitting down in front of him, then chuckled. “Alright. Jamie it is. My name is John Grey. And while I am a solicitor, I am not here on official business.”

That caused Jamie to look up. He gave Grey a puzzled stare.

“Then I bet ye saw this question comin’ sir. Why are ye here?”

John sat before Jamie and rifled through the briefcase. He produced a few pieces of paper, one of which was an official government profile sheet on one of his heist mates.

Jamie cursed in his native tongue of Gàidhlig.“I kent one o’ us was dirty.”

John just smirked. “Stephen Bonnet is a double agent on behalf of the Crown. He works in a very specific part of MI6’s recruitment department.”

Jamie waited for the punchline, but John gave nothing up. The taller, redheaded prisoner grunted in annoyance; his blood sugar was too low to be playing these stupid guessing games.

“Dinna keep me in suspense, John,” Jamie growled. “Why was there an agent fer the Crown in on a random heist?”

“Your ‘heist’ was actually a recruitment operation masquerading as grand theft. It’s one of the organization’s newest tactics for finding new members, organized by MI6 themselves. The only reason someone of your... _ talent _ …for criminal activity would ever be selected to join Her Majesty’s secret service.”

John’s pauses for dramatic effect annoyed Jamie even further. 

The lawyer pretended not to see his glare.

“Stephen Bonnet reported back to headquarters immediately upon your arrest. He says, in no uncertain terms,” another pause for dramatic effect, “there is no one better for this upcoming mission.’”

“Mission?”

“Yes,” John pulled another set of papers out of his files and slid them over to Jamie. 

He skimmed over most of it, but the words “summit,” “protection agency,” “diplomats,” and “Edinburgh” caught his attention.

“You may keep that for your own reference.” John began buttoning up his things, clearly feeling this meeting was over. “You have until your trial next week to decide what you would like to do. Think carefully, Jamie. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Do not consider it lightly.”

Before Jamie could ask anything, John was knocking on the door. Less than ten seconds later, he was gone.

“Back tae yer cell, Fraser,” Tompkins grunted.

Jamie complied and was escorted back to his cell, the shackles removed once the door was locked. He still had the paper in his hand.

He had one week to decide if he wanted to spend an uncertain amount of time in prison for the crimes he was being accused of, or work for the government. Well, not  _ just  _ the government. Her Majesty’s Government, directly. It was considered no small feat to become an elite member of the Secret Intelligence Service.

MI6 was the organization responsible for keeping the UK safe from terrorism, be it foreign, domestic, or cyber. Jamie read through the paper again, noting a few more details this time around.

The Leaders of the World Summit was the Olympics of international alliance and diplomacy. Every five years, leaders and their representatives from around the world all gathered for a whole month in a central place to discuss the world’s current events, problems, and figure out solutions as one cohesive group. The thought of such unity and coalition would have make Jamie gag had he not participated in something that required just that. He and his team (plus the apparent traitor) had always relied upon one another’s cooperation to pull off the crimes they did. This Summit was no different; only they were trying to solve problems rather than create them.

Jamie let out a heavy breath and laid back on his cot.

His brain was telling him he needed to take this job.

But his heart was utterly rebelling against the idea of working for the same organization that got his parents killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Babes: Erin, Katie & Gillian  
> Moodboard Goddess: Jacki
> 
> Find me on Twitter and Tumblr under the same username ^_^


	3. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are the consequences of Jamie accepting, and failing, his new mission? Meanwhile, Frank attempts to apologize to Claire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPIEST YEAR OF THE NEW!!!! I know I said every Saturday, but damnit I'm in a festive spirit! And, no, before you ask, chapter 4 will NOT be released until next week 😜 I can already see some of y'all thinking about that 🤣
> 
> Also I realized that, while I can add the chapter banners here, they're HUGE and don't format right on the page, so check out my twitter or tumblr if you wanna see them. Thanks, gorgeous readers 😘

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, you are hereby accused of aggravated robbery, conspiracy, intimidation...”

The magistrate droned on for what seemed like a lifetime. Jamie knew he should be paying attention or, at the very least, looking like he cared about the charges against him. But he just wanted the old man to get to the part where he was offered his choice of jail time or government work. He had spent much of his last week weighing his options. 

There was one thing that stuck out the most: MI6 agents, no matter their rank or level of tenure, are paid handsomely. The money he could send home to Lallybroch, to his sister and her family...well, none of them would ever have to want for anything again. It would definitely give his brother in law Ian’s military pension the boost it needed. They could live comfortably for the rest of their natural born lives, and that idea gave Jamie a bit of comfort. 

Jamie rarely thought of his own comfort first; ever since their parents’ death, Jamie’s mission in life has always been to protect and care for Jenny. Perhaps it was old fashioned of him; they weren’t exactly living in the 18th century. But still, he needed a purpose to live at the time, and his big sister was it. That purpose now extended to his best friend and brother in law, Ian Murray, and their five children.

But then, there was the other side of the coin. The details about Brian and Ellen Fraser’s deaths while in service of The Crown had always been hazy. Jamie and Jenny were naught but bairns when agents came to Lallybroch to explain to their Godfather, Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser, that their parents met with an “unfortunate incident” that resulted in death.

Jamie had asked Murtagh many times throughout his life what had happened. Murtagh always had the same answer.

“Ye’ll ken when yer older,  _ a  _ _ bhalaich _ .”

All that acknowledged, it wasn’t surprising that Jamie was hesitant to take the MI6 offer. But his feelings weren’t going to keep food on  t he Murray's table.

“Jamie?”

For a second, Jamie had forgotten John Grey was there representing him in his defense.

“Aye?” Jamie hissed back.

“The magistrate just made you the offer we discussed. Do you wish to accept it?”

A few of Jamie’s own heartbeats passed before he nodded in agreement.

“A wise decision,” John replied, the ghost of a smile spreading on his face. He stood up straight to address the magistrate on behalf of his client. “My Lord, my client has agreed to accept the bargain.”

The magistrate sat up a bit more and peered down at Jamie. Man to man, eye to eye.

“Ye ken what this means, d’ye lad?”

Jamie, refusing to show whatever insecurities were raging on the inside, met the older man’s stern gaze with one of his own. “Aye...erm, I mean, Yes, M’lord.”

“Ye agree that from this day forward, you are in the debt and service of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service, and upon swearing an Oath of Allegiance to Her Government, you will no longer be legally considered an individual, private citizen but an entity for which the Royal Government may do as they see fit?”

One heartbeat.

Silent gulp.

“Yes, M’lord.”

“And ye agree that, should ye fail in whatever mission you are given within a service period of ten years, you are to be considered a traitor to the crown and executed as Her Majesty sees fit?”

Two heartbeats. 

Skip. 

Stab. 

Twist. 

_ Wait...what?! _

Without thinking, Jamie looked at John with all the doubt his face could possibly muster. John didn’t meet his eye, or even turn to face him. But the slight twitch of Grey's lip told him this was what he meant when he asked if he was sure.  _ Absolutely _ sure, without any shadow of a doubt, that this was what he wanted to do.

Because he was essentially (and literally) forfeiting his life.

If Jamie undertook a mission and failed, as part of his parole...bargain? He didn’t know, but part of this “deal” meant he needed to give one-hundred percent, and succeed the same amount, or he would be executed like any other traitorous bastard in the United Kingdom.

It was too late to back out now, or even ask questions. That chance died when he agreed without really knowing all the details. He should have known this deal was too good to be true. Hadn’t he just been here before? Taking on a task that seemed just too good to be true?

“Mr. Fraser,” the magistrate called out, apparently for the second time. “Yer answer, if ye please.”

His heart raced as he licked dry, cracked lips, taking in and releasing a shuddering, soulbinding breath.

“I accept all terms as they have been presented, My Lord.”

\---

When Claire awoke that morning, Frank was gone. The sigh of relief that followed this revelation lifted a weight from her shoulders. This was definitely a good thing; she did not want to see Frank anytime soon.

Frank Randall was a scary drunk when he was mad at nobody. But add in a motive, like your wife telling you she's not pregnant (again), and, well...

It wasn’t that Claire feared for her life, per se, but living with an angry drunk who took those feelings out on the one person he was supposed to love and protect, cherish and care for could be a lot to handle.

They had exchanged harsh words the previous night. Which, in reality, meant Claire tried to speak and Frank talked over her in a loud, abrasive tone.

It was the usual one-sided argument. She was to blame, and the one who needed to get a second opinion because, of course, it couldn’t possibly be something wrong with _him_. It’s _her_ that has the defective reproductive organs! 

Claire had learned long ago that it was less painful to stand there and take it.

By the time her husband had finished his usual piece the taxi had already arrived, no doubt to deliver him to some young thing in a hotel room somewhere. That left Claire to deal with the psychological ramifications. Alone.

But hey, he doesn't put hands on her, so it can’t be  _ that _ bad.

Can it?

She threw on one of her favorite fleece robes and a pair of worn bunny slippers (the ones that Frank threatened to burn if he ever saw her wearing them in his presence), and made her way towards the kitchen to make coffee.

What greeted her in the living room took her breath away.

Several cases of flowers ranging from annuals to roses of different colors beautified the house, from the front entrance to their bedroom door, filling the air with a light fragrance that promised spring happiness. Arrangements with heart shaped edible fruits decorated the dining room table, a ten-seater that rarely saw more than a single chair occupied. 

What shocked her the most though was the man standing in her kitchen preparing an assortment of cappuccinos. 

"Ah! Good morning Mrs. Randall!"

Claire smiled. "Good morning, Reggie. I take it none of this," she gestured at the vast floral arrangements, "is for you?"

Reginald Wakefield, former Presbyterian minister turned Frank's personal assistant and longtime friend of the Randalls, laughed.

"Sad to say, I am not as pretty as you, my dear." He held a cup of coffee out to her, which she accepted. "Nor am I in a position where a hefty apology is needed."

While the older man's tone was sincere and kind, her smile was vanquished on the spot. Of course Frank would tell him; there wasn't a secret between the two men, ever. Suddenly the decorations in her house went from a grand, romantic gesture to nothing more than a suck up.

She was getting real tired of the suck ups.

"Seven years of marriage and the man still doesn't know a damn thing about me."

"Pardon, madam?"

Claire looked up. "Reggie, if I tell you something, can you promise to keep it from Frank? I know, I know, you don't ever keep secrets from one another, but-"

"Claire." That stopped her in her tracks. Reggie never used her Christian name. It was always "Mrs. Randall."

"Yes, Reggie?"

"I must ask this of you before you go any further. And whatever you say will stay between is, you have my word."

She nodded, not sure what he was going with this.

"Are ye safe here, madam?"

Her heart turned into a solid block of ice.

What should she say? Should she be honest and say she hadn't felt safe, secure or otherwise protected since marrying the monster that had become her husband? Or should she remain silent, knowing that at the end of the day Reggie was on Frank's payroll. He owed Claire no true allegiance, no matter how much he swore on his word or dead mother or whatever Scots considered oath-worthy.

She often wondered what would have happened if she had been truthful with Reggie that day. Had she told Reggie about the way Frank had treated her for most of their marriage. 

Would it have changed things? Would the course of the next few years have been altered?

Who can say?

But one thing she did know. If given the chance, she would do it all over again.

Because in the end, it would have all been worth it. 


	4. The First Day of Forever, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie starts his first day as an MI6 agent in training and forms an unlikely friendship; Claire's friend gives her a much needed wake up call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know I haven't done a very good job of *actually* releasing chapters on Saturday, but DARNIT THINGS ARE HAPPENING OKAY?! You're welcome? 🤣🤣🤣🤣
> 
> Also, please keep in mind, I'm a fic writer with no expertise in SIS. If you're reading this series for real life accuracy or representation of what could actually happen, then you're gonna be disappointed. I'm writing the story itself, an angsty love story with an eventual happy ending. I've only done loose research on the world of MI6, therefore 99% of everything here is probably not accurate at all.  
> Just...try to enjoy it, please? thanks
> 
> ANYWAY ENJOY!! 😁😁😁

Zero-five-hundred came sooner for Jamie than he anticipated. 

No standard alarm clock greeted him this morning. No yelling of prison guards from down the hall of his prison cell. He had been dreaming about his mother again, and half expected her to come in and wake him as gently as she always had.

Nope. Today, a drill sergeant (or some other authoritative rank) stomped into the barracks room he and twelve over young men were sleeping in and flipped them off their beds, sheets and all. The trainees landed on the hard, cold ground, face first.

The physical demands of MI6 training were his favorite; growing up on and working an active farm wasn’t for those unwilling to get their hands dirty. But the following weeks were filled with what Jamie would describe as someone removing his brain from his head, injecting more information than it could handle, and squeezing it back inside his skull without caring if it still fit. 

At the very least, this overload of information came with its own training on how to remember it all without constant headaches. The rat among his heist, Bonnet, helped him in that aspect. He was apparently from Ireland, and the exact kind of person Jamie needed in a friend. Especially in a world like this.

“You don’t blame me fer bein’ the rat on yer heist, d’ye Fraser?” Bonnet asked him one day.

Jamie thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head with a smile. “Nae. Let’s face it. There wasna a heist that day, was there? So, nae bother. I ken ye were just doin’ yer job. Which apparently is this.” Jamie swept a hand out in front of him, the grounds of Fort Monckton training facility misted with morning dew.

“Aye,” Stephen replied, pulling out a hand-rolled cigarette from a small silver case, “ye smoke, Fraser?”

“I thank ye, but no,” Fraser gently waved the proffered cig away, to which Bonnet shrugged, popped the filtered end into his mouth and lit it without any fuss. “I didna ken we could smoke durin’ trainin’.”

“Trainees can’t. But I’m a recruiter. Rules are a wee bit different fer me.” Bonnet blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth, away from Jamie’s face. He pointed to a sign behind them that read “Faculty Smoking Area.”

“Ahh, I see,” Jamie replied.

“Yer doin’ fine, Fraser,” Bonnet said after a few more drags from his cigarette. “It’s the only reason I requested to be assigned as yer mentor. I don’t waste time wi’ recruits who plan to fall out as soon as they get here.” 

Jamie looked up at him with a quizzical look. “Mentor?”

Bonnet nodded. “The program that yer in is small, so each trainee gets assigned a mentor. Some just pull from the collection of names and they’re assigned a trainee at random. Some prefer to handpick someone to take under their wing, so to speak.”

Jamie mulled that thought over for a moment.

“Why me?” He asked, finally. “I mean, ye didna see much o’ me during the heist, but-”

“Oh, I saw enough, Fraser,” Bonnet interrupted, without malice. Or any Jamie could sense. “I oversaw yer plannin’, yer observation o’ the facility. Ye have a natural instinct fer espionage. It was between you and Gavin Hayes. When I chose ye, I called it all off. And the coppers came fer us.”

While Jamie’s observations of that “perfect heist” being too good to be true stung at the time, he was at least thankful something came out of it.

“What happened to the other lads?” Jamie asked suddenly. He hadn’t thought about his longtime partners in crime- literally, in this case- until Bonnet mentioned Hayes.

“Oh, they’re all here, too. Just trainin’ fer different areas that MI6 covers.”

The redheaded Scot sighed in relief. At least none of them would ever have to beg, borrow, or steal to make ends meet another day in their lives. 

“Dinna fash yerself, Fraser.” Bonnet said in finality, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the facility ashtray. “Ye’ll make a fine agent fer Her Majesty.”

That thought put a light feeling in Jamie’s heart as he went on about the rest of the week.

\---

The car pulled up to her usual luncheon spot. The World’s End had provided Claire Randall with more than one means of escaping the daily travesties of her home life. 

In its early days, it was just another tavern in the city. It still housed the same tavern, with the same drink menu, but the establishment now had a Michelin star chef running its kitchen. Therefore it tended to cater to a more famous crowd - if the menu prices were any indication. 

Usually, she would have driven herself, but Frank had been insistent on someone chauffeuring her around town.

_ "A diplomat's wife should not be driving herself anywhere like some commoner. Have one of my employees take you wherever you need to go." _

Every time she heard him open his mouth, she wanted to slap him. Instead, she just nodded without a word. Ever obedient. Ever submissive.

“Claire!”

She got out of the car and straight into the arms of her personal assistant and best friend. The women squealed and hugged each other fiercely.

“It’s so good to see you, Geillis!” 

Geillis Duncan was Claire’s Reggie Wakefield, only she was the epitome of high-class business fashion. A dark green ruffled tie-neck blouse was covered by a beige-colored blazer and tucked into black, straight-legged slacks with a pair of brown pumps graced Geillis’ tall form. Her sleek, red hair was pinned back into a messy bun. She held a cell phone in one hand, and a briefcase in the other.

“Weel, hen, let’s do lunch.”

“Let’s!”

They wasted no time getting in and ordering lunch. The food was just as delicious as it had always been. As the two of them got to talking, a waiter came by and placed two Irish coffees in front of them.

"So," Geillis began, "how are things at home?"

Claire could have foreseen that question coming. 

"Fine," she lied. As if her glass face wouldn't give anything away.

"Bullshit."

Claire looked up to see the most serious expression she had ever seen on her best friend's face.

"Really, Geillis," Claire reasons, "just because my life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows doesn't mean anything is wrong."

Geillis took a deep breath, sipped at her coffee, then took another deep breath, letting it out slowly.

She set her dark green eyes fiercely on Claire.

"What I'm about to say is going tae hurt yer feelings, but I need to say it. No' just as yer personal assistant, but as yer friend."

Claire braced herself; she had seen this coming.

"What's happened tae ye?"

Claire blinked.  _ That wasn't so harsh. _ “What do you mean?”

Geillis sighed with exacerbation, as if she were about to scold a child.

"Claire, I've kent ye over fifteen years. Since we were eleven, in fact. Ye've always stood up fer yerself. Ye never let anyone talk down about ye,  _ especially  _ a man. Ye never were the meek and obedient type. And ye never would have given up yer career as a nurse fer anyone, let alone a man, regardless of his standing in the world. What happened tae the Claire I kent all those years ago? The do-no-harm-but-take-no-shite Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp? Where the fuck is she? Because she sure as fuck doesna sit 'afore me now."

Geillis was right. And it  _ did _ hurt.

Frank Randall took a strong woman and boiled her down to nothing more than a docile housewife who always did what her husband told her to do. She had been on the verge of taking over a hospital’s entire nursing department when she got married.

What  _ had _ happened to her?

Frank happened.

Enough was enough. Her backbone hardened to steel, her resolve found once more.

"I want to divorce him, Geillis."

"Then do it. It's the 21st century, hen. Ye dinna need  _ his  _ permission fer anything."

Claire shook her head. "If I so much as whisper the word with any form of sincerity, he could ruin me.”

"And that means what, exactly?” Geillis laughed. “I'd like to see the bastard try." 

Claire smiled a genuine smile for the first time in what felt like forever. Geillis took another sip of her coffee, and Claire was thankful she had such a remarkable woman as an ally. 

"Ye have more dirt on him than he has on you, fer one thing. What are-” Geillis froze in her seat. "Claire. Be honest wi' me, hen."

Claire blew out a breath, knowing what this meant. "If I tell him I want a divorce, he won't just ruin my image."

Geillis whipped out her cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Claire asked.

“In no way, shape, or form, will I allow yer so-called husband ruin ye. And I sure as fuck will not allow him tae harm ye.” She put her phone to her ear. “Dinna fash yerself, Claire. All will be well.”


	5. I've Tasted Hell and It Tastes Just Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An incident during training changes Jamie’s life, while Claire sets out to change hers herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured since it's almost Saturday here (it's like 8 o'clock so close enough right?) and I posted a brand new fic this evening, that I might as well update this one too since it's my main right now lol. Thanks for your love and infinite patience. There will always be a small part of me that feels I don't deserve it <3 xx

Claire corresponded with Geillis over the next few weeks, building a case of infidelity against her husband. If she was going to file for divorce, she wanted to be as prepared as possible. She knew Frank had connections in legal circles because of their up-and-coming socialite lifestyle; he could make a case against her without any evidence, pass it off as the truth, and walk away scot-free while she would be left ruined.

She was sitting on the couch, telly playing in the background, as she transferred money to a secret account on her phone when Frank walked into the living room.

“What are you doing?” He asked, a confrontational tone to his voice.

Claire ignored the tone as she switched apps to text Geillis. “I was enjoying an afternoon of catching up with friends. Why?” She looked up at Frank, her gaze colder than ice. “Is there something you need of me?”

Frank glared at her. “You’ve become rather distant lately, choosing to spend time with your assistant rather than your husband.”

Claire scoffed. “I found that Geillis actually enjoys my company, unlike that  _ husband _ of mine.” She stood up, walking a circle around him slowly. " And why is that, Frank? Huh? Why is it that you prefer the company of your associates assistant and... _ friends _ ...over the company of your own wife?" She said it sweetly enough, all wide eyes and high brows, but she could tell by the almost imperceptible dilation of her husband's pupils that he knew exactly what she meant.

It was Frank’s turn to scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous, Claire. You know my work schedule is hectic, especially now that I’m in charge of the Ministry of Health and Social Care, or have you forgotten? In any case, I find you very attractive, and I do not keep you on a leash! You can come and go as you please, and you seem quite capable of doing just that.”

“I can come and go as I please, can I?” Claire smiled sweetly.  _ This is my chance.  _ “Fine then. I want a divorce.”

Frank looked like he was about to have a stroke. It took all of Claire’s mental fortitude not to smile at his reaction.

“You- I-  _ what?! _ ”

“You heard me,” Claire felt her confidence grow. “I want a divorce. Despite what you say, your actions show that you do not love me anymore. Not since I told you I can’t give you a child.”

“Oh, don’t be like-”

“ _ I am speaking and you can talk when I’m finished. _ ” Claire looked Frank dead in the eyes, as if to dare him to speak again. “I don’t think that you ever really loved me. You were only interested in what I could do for you. I am more than a baby-making machine, Frank Randall, and I will not remain in a loveless marriage. So, I want a divorce. I will be packing my things and staying with Geillis for the time being. Expect a call from my lawyer soon.”

Claire was about to head to the bedroom but was grabbed from behind. Frank pulled her hair and clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream that ripped from her throat. She struggled to break free, but Frank twisted her arm behind him, causing immobilizing pain.

“If you divorce me, it would ruin us both. And even if it didn’t, I would spend the rest of my life making yours a nightmare. So, you have two choices. Continue this farce, believing you’re so much better without me. Or go make dinner, and this conversation never happened.”

Claire felt as if something sharp was poking into her back. It couldn’t be part of Frank’s anatomy, so she had to assume it was a weapon of some kind.

Fearing for her life, she nodded slightly, indicating she had chosen the latter. Frank slowly released her and pushed into the kitchen. She bent over to grab a pot from the lower cabinet.

“There’s a good girl,” Frank mused as he left.

Heart pounding, she whipped out her phone while moving pots and pans around, making it sound like she was cooking.

_ <<<Claire Randall [3:36 pm]: I told Frank about the divorce. He threatened me. _

**> >>Geillis Duncan [3:36 pm]: Hang tight, hen. I’m going to get you out of there if it means ending my life. Dinna worry about packing a bag, I’ve got ye covered.**

Claire was thankful she wasn’t able to sleep that night. She laid in bed next to a snoring Frank, anxiously waiting for “the signal” as Geillis called it. It finally came in the form of a text message from an unrecognized number, and it took all the self-control Claire possessed not to physically jump for joy.

**> >>UNKNOWN NUMBER [2:45 AM]: she’ll be comin round the mountain when she comes…**

She carefully removed herself from the bed, slipped on her shoes, tucked her phone in her purse, and made her way towards the front door. She held her breath as she unlocked it and slipped outside. The cold air of winter sent a shiver down her spine, and she wished she had grabbed a coat.

She didn’t bother locking the door behind her; they lived in the middle of nowhere, who was going to break in? An all-black, unmarked vehicle was idling at the end of the long driveway, the only light that indicated its existence with a small overhead inside. As she got closer, one of the back windows rolled down.

“Get in loser, we’re goin’ tae divorce court!” Geillis chided, causing Claire to hide her laugh.

She slipped inside the car, hugged her savior fiercely, and the car took off. Frank Randall would awake the next morning with his wife gone, and a note explaining that she would come back when she was ready.

\---

Jamie had been looking forward to this day of training for months.

While he would not be using anything more powerful than the standard-issued nine-millimeter handgun provided by MI6, he had always had a fascination with military-grade explosives — C4, Semtex, Comp-B. He would be the first to admit that he had been caught playing with fireworks one too many times, trying to figure out how they worked, and what would happen if he mixed certain explosive compounds. His father always found his fascination amusing. His mother...not so much. 

The recruits were working in two teams, practicing detonating explosive devices to clear an enemy stronghold. One team was on one side of the entrance to the “building” (which was nothing more than a ply board wall held up with two-by-four planks, the “entrance” being an eight-by-five rectangular cutout) acting as clearance, and the other team was a bit of distance away, preparing to detonate said device.

“Fraser! Yer up!”

Jamie knew his task: run a detonation cord from the “building” to the remote that would set off the electric charge needed to blow it up.

Task completed, Jamie crouched down beside Bonnet.

“Det cord set, sir.”

“Good work Fraser.”

The men called out the proper terms, indicating they were going to blow the building up in order to clear it of any hostile entities.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” Jamie called out with all his might, causing the men to scatter to their foxholes. Two seconds later, Bonnet pressed the big red button on his remote to detonate the building.

Nothing happened.

All the men look around at each other in confusion. Some of the men jumped out of the foxhole and moved further back, thinking the detonation was delayed or somehow moved.

“Could be a dud,” Bonnet said, disappointed. “That happens sometimes. Go check and see what’s amiss, Fraser. I’ll work on setting up another one.”

Jamie thought nothing odd of this command as he made his way towards the ply board structure. He walked through the opening and peered down into the hole where the C4 was still sitting there as if someone had just left it behind.

“It doesna appear to be wet, must have been-”

The unthinkable happened as Jamie was speaking into his radio. One second he was standing there, talking, and the next he found himself lying prone in the mud. His back felt like it was on fire.

Before he lost consciousness, two things occurred to him.

The first was that his back was, in fact, on fire, and littered with shrapnel wounds as everything he was wearing was blown off him.

The second was the barrage of voices shouting his name in abject horror.

He let the darkness take over, not knowing or caring if he would ever see the light again.


	6. Sorcha, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie is hampering his own recovery, until a dream attempts to set him right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I originally wrote this chapter, it was supposed to be like an intermission in the main storyline. I'm not so sure that's still the case because I think events in the next two chapters will resurface. Don't quote me on that though. I'm still piecing together the actual storyline itself 😅

_ “Fraser!” _

_ “FRASER!” _

_ “What the fuck happened?” _

_ “FRASER?!” _

_ “REPORT, BONNET!” _

_ “I thought it was a dud, sent Fraser to check…” _

_ “Fuck, is that really him?” _

_ “...I wouldn't have sent him up there if I knew it was live, ye gotta believe me!” _

_ “His back’s a mess, captain.” _

_ “I can’t find a pulse.” _

_ “Is he even breathing?” _

_ “Roll him over, we may need to do CPR.” _

_ “No need, sir, there’s a heartbeat...” _

_ “Get him outta here! Leave him prone! He’s probably gonna need a lot of surgeries...” _

_ “Sir, he’s hardly breathing, we might have to intubate…” _

_ “Do it now, it’ll only help him in the long run.” _

_ “Vitals are barely holdin’...how is he even alive?” _

_ “SOMEONE GET HIS NEXT OF KIN ON THE LINE NOW!” _

_ “I’m sorry captain, I’ll make this right...” _

_ “You better, Bonnet. If he dies, his blood is on your hands...” _

_ “I understand.” _

_ “You fucking better.” _

_ “Sir, he has a sister that’s a three-hour drive from here, we’re sending a car to go get her.” _

_ “Excellent, any other family?” _

_ “Other than his brother-in-law and their children, no.” _

_ “Tube is in, lung sounds are clear, vitals!” _

_ “Not much better.” _

_ “I know of his godfather...he’s part of MI5” _

_ “Get him on the line.” _

_ “He’s in V-fib! I’m defibrillating!.” _

_ “Damnit, rookie, don’t die on us!” _

_ “CLEAR!” _

_ “Anything?” _

_ “Still no pulse.” _

_ “FUCK! AGAIN!” _

_ “Charging!” _

_ “WHERE’S MY BROTHER?!” _

_ “CLEAR!” _

_ “Starting compressions.” _

_ “Hang in there, James!” _

_ “Heart’s beating again, sir. Sinus rhythm.” _

_ “He seems to be stable enough for surgery now.” _

_ “OR1 is ready for him. Go!” _

_ “Bonnet, Fraser’s sister and godfather are here, you’re in charge of dealing with kin.” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _

_ “Where is my brother? Is he alive? Yer lot already killed our parents-” _

_ “Jenny, a leannan, calm down-” _

_ “I WILLNA CALM DOWN, MURTAGH, NO’ UNTIL I GET SOME ANSWERS!” _

_ “Mrs. Murray, your brother is in surgery right now. There was an accident at the artillery range this morning. I can assure ye, our doctors and surgeons are doing everything in their power to save his life.” _

_ “Yer all murderers, ken! ALL O’ YE!” _

_ “Jenny, please! Sergeant, please forgive my goddaughter, she’s-” _

_ “It's alright, Special Agent Fitzgibbons. She's grieved. I don’t take it personally.” _

_ “Is there anything ye need on our part?” _

_ “Not just now, sir. Just...pray...” _

_ “Havena stopped since I got the call...” _

_ “What did they tell ye, a ghoistidh?” _

_ “That his back is marred fer life most likely.” _

_ “He’s been in there fer seven hours, what is takin’ so long?!” _

_ “Kin fer James Fraser!” _

_ “Fraser, ye say? I’m his sister Janet Fraser Murray. _

_ “Special Agent Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser, the lad’s godfather.” _

_ “How is he? Does he live?” _

_ "Jenny-" _

_ "NO, A GHOISTIDH, I NEED TO KNOW!" _

_ "It's alright, Agent. Madam, yer brother is alive. He survived the surgery, but he's got a long road to recovery. His prognosis is good, his vital signs are stable...he's a fighting chance." _

_ "Mrs. Murray?! Grab a gurney!" _

_ "It's alright, lads, she's just a wee bit faint. Jenny, a ghràidh, can ye hear me?" _

_ "He's gonna make it… a ghoistidh...he's gonna be alright…"  _

_ "Aye, he will…" _

_ \--- _

_ “Doctor, he’s starting to wake up.” _

_ “Make sure those restraints are good, not too tight this time!” _

_ “Yes, ma’am.” _

_ "Dinna move, laddie, yer in hospital, intensive care, there was an accident, but it’s alright. Yer alive. Yer whole. All is well. Ye with me, Fraser? Can ye feel my fingers touchin’ ye here?" _

_ "Sorcha…" _

_ “Pardon?” _

Laying on his belly with nothing but a thin sheet draped over his backside and what felt like bandages wrapped around his entire torso, Jamie felt nothing but a dull burning sensation across his spine.

He had to be hospitalized, he thought, if the faint yet consistent beeping noise beside him was any indication.

He had vague memories of people going in and out of his room. He could have sworn he heard his sister, Jenny, her husband, Ian, and his godfather Murtagh, coming and going as well. He was certain he had heard their voices; they were too familiar to mistake for anyone else. Jenny was the only one sobbing, begging him in the Gàidhlig to wake up, to not leave her as their parents did.

He had been told there was a horrific accident, that his back had suffered significant trauma. He had already had three surgeries, and there were six more operations confirmed if things went as planned. 

Dramatic, but he let it go. 

They had also told him that during two of those operations, and on the original ambulance ride to the hospital, his heart had stopped beating and needed to be restarted. 

He had taken their word for it; very little of this supposed “incident” came through the surface of his mind’s eye when he tried to remember. His last memory of anything that day was him being excited about the artillery range training.

_ So,  _ he surmised,  _ I guess I really did explode...how else could I have landed in such a predicament? _

\---

**_Four Months Later…_ **

The Fraser siblings’ angry Gàidhlig shouts rumbled through the halls. Everyone could hear it, and everyone could feel it. This wasn’t the first time, and so long as James Fraser was a patient there, such public displays of sibling warfare would continue. 

Jamie’s nurse, Mary, the poor young Englishwoman, had called Jenny sobbing her heart out because Jamie had cursed her out in the Gàidhlig and refused to let her clean his wounds, even knowing full well that he could not receive his breakfast until it was done. Seeing as Jenny was the only person in Scotland who could withstand his wrath, Ian called his boss to let him know he would be late for work that day, and the mother of three made the two-hour-long drive to Alladale Acute Care in the Highlands.

Brother and sister had been going at it for about an hour and a half when the head nurse approached the west end’s nurses’ station, smirking in the direction of the loud noises.

“Another Fraser tantrum?” Mother Hildegarde remarked dryly, placing a soothing hand upon little Mary Hawkins’ shoulder.

Mary nodded shakily, tears still streaming down her young face, as her colleague, Louise de Rohan, said, “Oui. It is like this at least three times a month! And it is not like we can intervene! These Scots are a very vicious breed when angered!”

“Yes,” Hildegarde mused, giving the nurses huddled around the desk a brief, but kind, smile. “Unfortunately, for James Fraser’s particular care needs, we are the only place in the Scottish Highlands that can give him what he needs to go on to live a full, healthy life. Provided he wants it. We cannot help those who do not wish to help themselves.”

_ “Why do ye do this to me, James?!”  _ Jenny argued in the Gàidhlig, fuming at her brother’s prone form. He was naked, saved for a meager towel to cover his posterior modesty.  _ “Ye ken yer brother in law is missing work because of you! Tarran’s a good man but there’s only so much he can do. He told Ian that  _ his  _ boss says if he misses one more morning, he’s fired! Do you really want to be responsible for Lallybroch going under because you can’t take care of yourself?” _

_ “I can take care of myself just fine!” _ Jamie growled back in equally angry Gàidhlig.  _ “These damn besoms won’t let me get out of bed to take a shower. I can move fine on my own! Why won’t they let me?!” _

_ “Because your doctor says you’re not ready! You need to listen to them so you can get better. Heal, then come home to Lallybroch!” _

Jamie huffed in outraged annoyance.  _ “What makes you think I want to come home.” _

It wasn’t a question.

For the first time in a long time, Jenny didn’t say anything back. She was stunned.

_ “You canna mean that, brother.” _

_ “I do, Janet.” _ He tried his hardest to twist around to face her, but he howled in pain when the movement ripped open yet  _ another _ stitch. It started to bleed profusely, but neither of them paid the new wound any mind.  _ “What is the point of going home when I am nothing but a failure. I couldn’t get a real job, so I became a thief. I couldn’t steal enough to provide for you, Ian and the bairns, so I got myself locked up. The fucking Crown offered me a way out of all my problems, and all I had to do was survive the training! And I couldna even do that...” _

Jamie twisted further, the blood now dripping freely onto the floor. He glared at his sister.

“Why would ye want yer failure of a brother to come home at all?” Jamie demanded softly in English. “To be a reproach as long as I live?”

Jenny, stunned into silence, left the room abruptly. After a few more minutes of Jamie sulking alone, Mary came back in. He could tell without having to look that it was her because of her stuttering whimpers. The lass was clearly terrified to approach him again.

“Dinna fash, milady,” Jamie said, defeated. “I willna interfere wi’ yer job any further.”

\---

The rest of the day went on uneventfully. Jamie went through the daily routine of his wounds being constantly assessed and medicated, as well as talks with therapists and light exercises to keep up his strength while bed bound on his belly.

Sleep did not come easy for the young Highlander that night, but when it finally did…

_ He lay in a field of some kind, bodies littered all around him. He couldn’t feel any part of his body below his navel; he knew he would be crippled for life. Two of his kilted comrades lay dead across his chest, their hearts long stilled beside his own pounding one.  _

_ The snow started to fall as the fires of war died away and night began to fall. The cold air froze the drool dribbling down his chin. His consciousness seemed to wax and wane with each breath. Some dim part of his brain knew he was bleeding to death, his heart rate dropping with the temperature. _

_ A small white light shone in the distance. Jamie focused on it. It grew brighter and larger the longer he stared.  _

_ Before he knew it, a woman stood before him. She was dressed in nothing but a silken white robe, almost like a woman’s shift, her face framed with the most riotous of brown curls. Her eyes were the colors of golden amber, finely aged whisky, and the satisfying glass of warm sherry all wrapped into orbs set into their sockets. _

_ “Sorcha.” It was the only word Jamie could speak with his mouth and throat drier than singed cotton. _

_ The woman reached out a hand to cup his face. He didn’t know what he expected, but certainly not for her hand to be  _ warm.

_ “Are you alive?” _

_ “I...I dinna ken...” Jamie couldn’t speak, so he mentally spoke his answer. _

_ “You should be,” the woman went on. “You must keep fighting, Seamus Ruaidh. You must win. For your mission has not yet truly begun. Fight...and win.” _


	7. Sorcha, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I promised ye my protection, did I no’?” He asked.  
> Again, that ache in my heart told me to trust him. “Yes. And you have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I'm a day late in posting this. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this series is going on a wee hiatus while I get caught up. See, I spent about a month and a half writing the first several chapters and had betas ensure it was good to go so that I had enough material to post while writing more in the process. Well, real life loves to get in the way lol. I haven't had a chance to write anything substantial and I need time to catch up. I know y'all are amazing and understanding readers and totally get it, and I know I don't owe anyone any kind of explanation, but I still feel like BECAUSE you're all so amazing, I should give you one anyway.
> 
> Make no mistake: I WILL COME BACK. There WILL be more chapters to come. I just need to write them first 😅 I don't think this chapter is too much of a cliffhanger to decimate you while you wait......I think....I'm still planning and writing the synopsis for this therefore I'm only thinking about 6-7 chapters ahead. I'm hoping to have up to chapter 11 or 12 completed, beta and all, before I start posting again. In the meantime, you can be sure a few more chapters of The Messenger will see the light of day ^_^ it's a bit easier to write and it helps get the fanfic juices flowing for the more heavy stuff.
> 
> Thank you all for your love, kudos, adoration, grumblings, and praise! :D

_I stood beyond the world. Or so it seemed._

_The sun was shining, no clouds to be seen for miles. It was pleasantly warm too. Not so warm that you needed a parasol, though. The breeze that tousled my hair was gentle enough not to necessitate a coat of any kind._

_I wore a light green cotton dress that fell just below my knees, brown suede flats, and a pair of sunglasses were perched on the bridge of my nose._

_It was the perfect day._

_Was this Scotland?_

_It certainly looked like it. But the weather didn’t seem to match._

_I was standing at the foot of what had to be one of Scotland’s many Munro’s. The tallest peaks in all the land. I started to climb, knowing that the closer I got to the top, the colder it would get. But that icy bite never came. I expected to get winded, but my breathing and its quality never worsened. It was like I was exercising in someone else’s body, unable to feel the effects of such a strenuous challenge._

_The closer I got, the warmer it became. That was odd. I ignored the ever-growing sensation that something was terribly wrong, and kept walking up the mountain._

_It was then that I noticed I was carrying a backpack. One of those sling-across-the-chest type bags that I’d seen bicyclists use. I stopped to open it up._

_Inside were all kinds of snacks fit for someone going on a long hike. Protein bars with nuts and peanut butter, berries and dark chocolate, granola pouches with sun-dried fruit snacks, all crowded around a large thermos of ice-cold water. Indulging myself, I grabbed one of the dark chocolate bars, ripping it out of its packaging and taking a big bite._

_A harmony of tart sweetness and bitter acidity melted into my senses as I chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. I washed it all down with the water. It should have been very off-putting, drinking water after eating something with dark chocolate in it, but it was akin to the feeling of completing a rather large jigsaw puzzle. The kind of satisfaction that felt so right. Hunger and thirst sated, I continued to make my way up the mountain._

_I must have walked for hours. My feet should have been sore, given my poor choice in shoes, but they weren’t. It was like walking on clouds; I felt nothing as I made my way to the top. I should have been tired, aching for a nap or some kind of rest. But I felt spry as a newborn fowl, ready to run the second it got its bearings._

_I don’t even know why I was doing this. What purpose was there for this excursion? What lay at the top of the mountain for me?_

_I didn’t know the answer, but something was telling me that I needed to get to the top. I needed to complete this journey. Something memorable was waiting for me._

_As I neared the top, I saw something._

_Or, rather..._ someone.

_It was a tall man, judging from the figure’s posture and stance. Getting closer, I could see he was dressed in traditional Scottish dress. Tartan kilt, stockings, jerkin, and mantle, a sporran graced the front of his lower body, and a worn greyish bonnet sat atop long locks of golden cinnamon and auburn. He was the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on._

_He must have heard my footsteps. He turned around to face me, smiling._

_“There ye are, Sassenach.”_

_I could tell by his accent that he was from the Highlands. Although I’m not sure how I knew that information. His voice seemed familiar. Did I know this man? My brain was telling I most certainly did not. But my heart felt like it had known him my whole life._

_"Wasna sure ye'd make it," he went on, walking closer toward me._

_He held out his hand, the other resting comfortably on a broadsword, sheathed safely in its scabbard._

_My hands anchored itself to his, and all felt right with the world. Like I actually belonged somewhere important._

_With him._

_"Ye told me once, 'my mission wasna complete yet.'" He took a deep breath. "You were right, mo nighean donn. It wasna. Now, though."_

_He took me into his arms and held me close. I could feel his heart beating against my ribs and I wanted nothing more than to stay there forever._

_“I promised ye my protection, did I no’?” He asked._

_Again, that ache in my heart told me to trust him. “Yes. And you have.”_

_"I ken everything will be alright now, Sorcha. My light. My Sassenach. Claire. This is what we’ve worked so hard for...our forever ever after...Claire..."_

_Claire…_

Claire…

“CLAIRE!”

\---

Her alarm had been going off for twenty minutes, and the blaring buzzing noise had resembled someone calling her name. She flailed wildly in an attempt to turn the damn thing off.

“Easy now, Claire,” Geillis came into her room. She reached out with one hand to catch Claire’s arm before she could hurt herself, while the other silenced the clock.

_“Whaa?”_ Claire grumbled and blinked hard, Geillis finally coming into full focus. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t in her bed, but in the home of her personal assistant.

“It’s well after noon, hen,” Geillis sat on the edge of the bed, “I didna want to wake ye. Dinna fash,” Claire was about to protest being allowed to sleep in so late, but Geillis stopped her. “While yer wi’ me, ye have no’ schedule nor expectations. Yer a free woman.”

Had she slept in this late, even on the weekend, Frank would have been furious. Regardless of whether she needed the extra sleep or was ill, “only the lazy and unmotivated sleep in,” Frank would astutely remind her. 

Being at Geillis’ home, it reminded her of her university days. After her Uncle Lamb died and she went to school, she felt like a true adult. No authority figure to tell her what to do, no one to manage her schedule for her or tell her what she could or could not do; she was free to simply live her life. She remembered the feeling of true responsibility; of living on her own, and was proud of how well she managed her social and personal life with the demanding challenges of being a nursing student.

That only improved when she started working after graduation. The hospital that employed her allowed her to thrive with her schedule being harrowing yet flexible. She could be on her feet all day, and still managed to meet friends or colleagues for drinks, or spend a day lazily enjoying her time off. She genuinely enjoyed her life.

Claire, for the most part, still enjoys life. But she knows her quality of life is diminished because of Frank and his micromanagement of that life.

She still planned to file for divorce. But given how her first attempt transpired, she knew she needed a different approach.

“That’s not putting the situation mildly at all.”

“What was that?” Geillis asked, and Claire realized she had spoken aloud.

“Nothing, talking to myself.” Claire yawned, and Geillis stepped out of the room so she could wake up in peace. If there was one thing about Geillis that Claire always appreciated, it was the fact that she didn’t hover. She didn’t crowd around or linger in anticipation of meeting someone’s needs. Geillis knew her worth; if someone needed her, they would find her.

As she made her way downstairs, Claire knew she was going to need her more than ever now. She accepted a hot mug of coffee from the redheaded beauty before asking, “so...what’s the plan today?”

“Ye tell me, hen. If ye wanna discuss all things divorce, I can find some handsome, well-built, _male_ lawyers for ye tae chat up, make ye see what yer really missin’, ye ken...”

Geillis wriggled a thin ruddy eyebrow at her and Claire laughed; ever the adventurous of the two, the former could never resist throwing her promiscuous side at the latter.

“No, I’d rather not discuss the divorce today,” Claire took a sip from her mug before continuing, “though it does need to happen sooner rather than later. I can’t keep Frank waiting. And even if I wanted to, it’s not like I can _really_ hide from him. He’ll make sure I’m found one way or another.”

Geillis narrowed her eyes at Claire.

“I’d really like to see him try,” she replied dangerously, but then smiled, “if he likes his dysfunctional bollocks where they currently reside.”

The women laughed until they were both red in the face and wheezing for breath.

All joking aside, she needed to figure out what to do with herself. And her life. Before Frank took that choice away from her too.


	8. The First Day of Forever, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie finally emerges from MI6 training, and his family is there to celebrate with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm still a writer! It's back! Now...the downside is, I can no longer keep up with a regular posting schedule. So I won't. I plan to work on the next chapter over the next few weeks, in addition to my other WIPs. Thank you all for your loving words, kind comments, kudos and overall praises! I love each and every one of you ^_^

**_Six Months Later_ **

“Where’s Nunkie, Mam?” Maggie asked.

“He hasna come out yet, my wee lamb,” Jenny hissed, looking into the crowd.

“He shoulda come out already,” Ian complained.

“I’m hungry Da!” Wee Jamie whined, nudging his father incessantly.

“Aye, soon,” Ian answered his son for probably the thousandth time since they arrived at the complex. A fussy Kitty was currently being bounced lightly on his one good knee while he scanned the crowd alongside Jenny.

Before either of them could make a comment about how much longer they would have to wait, ceremonial music started playing and people filed out of a room towards the back of the complex.

It didn’t take long before the six-foot-four red-haired giant that was Jamie Fraser filed out, dressed in a crisp, clean military uniform.

“NUNKIE!” Wee Jamie and Maggie bellowed as they made a mad escape from their parents and dashed into the open arms of their uncle.

“Och! Ye wee devils!” Jamie grunted as he hugged his niece and nephew fiercely. “Ye’ll be giants before we all ken what tae do wi’ ye!” He walked towards Jenny and Ian, both their older children attached to his legs like leeches.

“We’re sae proud of ye, Sawny,” Jenny said as Jamie bent low to hug her.  _ “Bhiodh Màthair agus Athair moiteil.” _

_ “Tha fios agam gum biodh iad, piuthar,” _ Jamie replied.

Ian came forward and made to clap him on the back, but stopped himself just in time. There was a tense moment where everything seemed awkward, but Jamie just smiled at him.

“It’s alright,  _ a charaid, _ ” Jamie said, turning around to give permission. “It doesna hurt anymore.”

It didn’t. It had taken months of intense therapy, both physical and psychological, and the help of many of his now-fellow comrades, but if it hadn’t been for his family needing him to provide for them he would have laid in that hospital bed and willed himself to die. But he fought and regained almost all of the functionality he thought was lost forever. His back was now a tangled web of slashing scars and skin grafts, but he was alive. He was whole. All was well.

Jamie took wee Kitty from Ian and was tickling her belly when Jenny said. “The weans are starved, and so am I.”

“Aye,” Jamie said with a pained laugh as Kitty pulled at his ponytail. “I wouldna mind a meal myself. What did ye have in mind?”

“Ye pick,  _ a charaid, _ ” Ian said. “It’s yer day tae celebrate!”

In the end, Jamie picked a local Italian place not far from the complex, and the Fraser-Murrays spent the afternoon eating, talking, and reconnecting with one another. The older bairns told Jamie all about how their lives had been since he left to join “the big secret place” as they were now officially calling it. Kitty absolutely refused to leave Jamie’s arms so he was content to bouncing her lightly on his knee and giving her kisses on the cheek every so often. 

After an elongated lunch, Jamie pointed out a park across the street from the restaurant. They took their time walking over and while the children played. Jamie caught up with his sister and brother-in-law. A few hours later, Jamie helped Jenny and Ian carry three very sleepy and worn out children back to their car so they could head back to Lallybroch. The sun was setting and the air was growing cooler as the light of the day faded.

“When will ye come home,  _ a bràthair? _ ” Jenny asked as she reached up to hug Jamie.

“I dinna ken,” Jamie answered, regretfully. “But hopefully soon. I’ll be able tae do that now.”

“Aye,” Jenny smiled. “I’m proud of ye. Ye coulda let yer pride take over, and ye’d be in prison. But ye didna. That took courage.”

Jamie grimaced. “I’m still no’ sure I made the right call. But,” he took a long breath and blew it out, “at least ye and the weans willna want fer yer supper now. Guaranteed.”

“Just watch out, Jamie,” Jenny whispered to him. “I ken yer reasons why, but I also ken yer hesitation. It isna lost on either me or Ian.”

“Take care o’ yerself, Jamie,'' Ian hobbled over to give Jamie a hug of his own. “Ring when ye can, aye?”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, helping Jenny into the passenger seat of their car. Blowing kisses to wee Jamie, who hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, he patted the roof of the car as Ian put the car into gear and drove off.

His sister’s words had reminded him of why he would have rather rotted in prison for the rest of his life than work for the Secret Intelligence Service. But it also revitalized a long-dormant desire for vengeance. 

Someone in the organization he was now part of was responsible for the deaths of his parents. In addition to whatever mission he was assigned, he was committed to finding out what happened and, if possible, bring Brian and Ellen Fraser’s murderers to justice.

\---

Five and a half months had gone by since Claire had last seen Frank. As much as she would have loved to move in with Geillis permanently and pretend to be her wife (much to Geillis’ insistence), she knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable. If she was going to file for divorce, she felt like she needed to face him in person, and she’d rather not do that in a courtroom separated by lawyers just yet.

With Geillis’ help, she researched the best divorce lawyers money could buy. She made it very clear to her that all she wanted was to be free from Frank without any attachments. She didn’t want his money or half his possessions, not even the luxury sedan he had bought for her a few years ago.

But, when it came time to pull the trigger and make the call, she hesitated, slipping back into those docile and dutiful ways Frank had all but brow-beat into her.

Despite G’s best efforts, and after much arguing, Claire decided that if she wasn’t going to help herself, she should stop being a burden on the one person who was actually trying to help her.

“Claire, I dinna mean tae shoo ye away,” Geillis said as she watched Claire drag her bags to the door one early morning. Geillis had insisted she take all the things she bought for her stay and Claire wasn’t in a position to refuse. Geillis had called for her driver to take Claire back to the house her and Frank shared.

“You’re not, G, I promise,” Claire insisted as she heard the car outside honk for her, “but there’s no point in being hidden away if I’m not willing to help myself. But don’t worry. When the time comes, you’ll be the first person to know about it.”

“Better be.” Geillis huffed and grabbed Claire’s suitcase. “Dinna fash, hen. I’ll load it up fer ye.”

An hour later, after prolonged goodbyes and promises of texts upon her safe return, the car was pulling up in front of the lone-standing house she shared with Frank. 

She wouldn’t dare call it her  _ home _ . It was nothing more than the place she ate, slept, showered, and used the toilet. The house itself was a grand example straight of the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. It boasted a large private driveway, three floors, seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, a tennis court to rival anything Wimbledon had to offer, and a large swimming pool. If it wasn't for the heaters built into the pool, Claire would have questioned why such a feature existed. 

For the first time, Claire took a good look at the exterior of the house, and it felt little more than a prison for her. Frank had insisted they needed a big house  _ “for the family that we will have together,” _ but now it was all a farce. No children of the Randall bloodline would ever roam the halls of this faux castle. Maybe at one point, Claire believed Frank had her best interests in mind. 

If she was being honest with herself, Claire had never really had a home. A domicile where one resides, a place where one’s domestic affections are centered. It didn’t matter how the word was defined, only that Claire had yet to experience having such a place to truly assign the word “home” to it.

Raised by her paternal archeologist uncle after the untimely death of her parents, the two of them travelled to archeological digs around the world. Claire had seen more of the world before her eighteenth birthday than most people saw in their lifetimes. It was a fact she was always proud of. Being exposed to so many different places, people, cultures, and ways of life was what prepared her for her eventual career as a nurse. Uncle Lamb always showed how proud he was of her, up until the day he died. 

_ “You can understand people in a way that someone who has lived in England all their lives could never grasp,” _ Lamb had once told her.  _ “You have the perfect advantage for working in medicine.” _

Walking towards the solid oak French double doors, Claire realized now that after so many years being Frank’s wife, she wouldn’t know  _ how  _ to be the nurse she once was.

She slowly closed the doors behind her. It was cold, dark, and the air was a bit stiff. At least, it was in the front room. She left her suitcase by the door and started turning on lights.

“Frank?” She called out, but received no answer.

That was good. She could unpack the things Geillis gave her in the spare room without being disturbed. She had no idea where Frank was, therefore had no idea when he would be home.  _ Fine by me, _ she thought bitterly.

Claire passed the time with tidying up, watching telly, and generally enjoying the peace and quiet in her unintentional prison. Eventually, she grew tired and fell asleep on the couch. It was hours later when the sound of the French doors unlatching woke Claire up. Frank walked in and for a moment, looked at Claire as if she were a ghost. From where she stood, the first thing she noticed was how remarkably sober he was.

_ When was the last time she had seen Frank sober after six o’clock in the evening? _

“Claire,” Frank said with a gasp. She had no time to prepare herself before Frank threw his arms around her middle, hugging her with all his might. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Claire noted that he was, in fact, not drunk at all. Not so much as a shot of anything, if his breath was any indication. But she knew what this was. It happened like clockwork in some fashion. He would act like it was some wonderful miracle that Claire was alive and profess his undying love for her and only her. It was all a rouse, though. Before she could spell “adultery,” he would be back to his drunken, cheating ways.

“Hello, Frank,” she said with no emotion at all. “Have a lovely night out?”

Frank looked at her, confused. “I was at work, darling. But I have missed you so much.”

“I’m sure you have, Frank,” Claire removed herself from his arms. “I still haven’t changed my mind, but if I’m going to go through with this-”

“Claire, please, let me explain something.”

Claire looked at Frank, and in that moment she realized that there was something in his eyes when he spoke. Anytime he spoke of how he’s “seen the error of his ways” and “vows to do better in the future,” she noticed that he turned on a certain charm, as if to bewitch her with some kind of spell. Apparently it worked rather well since each time he’s done it, she takes him back like everything was alright. Maybe spending so much time with Geillis was having an effect on her.

Sure enough, Frank went on a long, drawn out speech about how he has been a horrible husband, and knows he can do better. He vows do be better, and to live by the vows he made to her on their wedding day, blah blah, at this point Claire was making eye contact but wasn’t absorbing his words.

“So, what do you say? Will you give me a second chance?” Frank said with finality, as if she had been paying attention the whole time.

Claire knew the kind of monster Frank was now, after her last stunt in defying him. She knew he was capable of doing more than reputational harm to her if she refused him again. So, for her own safety, she smiled cordially, came back into his arms, and said, “Of course. I love you, Frank.”

They kissed passionately, and Frank swept her off her feet in a fit of giggles. For a moment, Claire could pretend it was the early days of their marriage. The days where there was genuine love and adoration for each other. Before the ugly truth showed itself. For a few minutes, she could live the lie that Frank wouldn’t snap her neck given the chance she disobeyed him again. 

For a second, it felt like she was indeed happily married.

After a rather lackluster love making session, Claire and Frank laid in their bed together.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Frank said softly.

“Mmm?” Claire murmured, already half gone with sleep.

“There’s an event that I’m to participate in as a British diplomat. The Leader of the World Summit up in Edinburgh. We’re set to leave within a week, and I would very much appreciate it if you were by my side throughout the event.”

_ Great, another public venture for him to display me as a piece of meat, _ Claire thought, but said instead, with gritted teeth, “Well, of course I’ll go. What wife wouldn’t want to support her husband on such an important event?” Even as she said the words, she wanted to vomit, but pushed it down.

“I know things haven’t been great between us, Claire.”

_ Bloody fucking understatement, but okay. _

“I know, darling.”

“But I want this to be a fresh start for us. In fact, as soon as we get to our destination, I will have a spa day arranged for you. You can spend the whole day being pampered like the queen you are. How does that sound?”

Claire pondered on that offer. While she didn’t want a damn thing from Frank, before, during, or after their subsequent divorce, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to take advantage of anything he was offering. If nothing else, it would keep her away from him for a whole day.

“That sounds wonderful, darling,” Claire agreed, and made to snuggle closer into Frank’s body. 

“I will also have it arranged so that, for our protection, a bodyguard detail from MI6 will ensure our safety.”

That caused Claire to frown, and she sat up a bit to look at Frank. “That’s peculiar. I wasn’t aware the Secret Intelligence Service did bodyguard duties.”

“Typically, they don’t,” Frank explained, “but apparently the last time a summit of this size was held, espionage and treason had been committed and people lost their lives. I’m assuming the Crown doesn't want anything like that to happen again. It won’t just be us, though. Every British diplomat in attendance will be watched over by MI6. They are, after all, trained in such matters alongside their regular duties to the Crown.”

Claire hummed her acknowledgement, then they both rolled over and went to sleep. As if they never had the conversation to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GÀIDHLIG TRANSLATIONS:  
> “Mother and Father would be proud.”  
> “I know they would, sister.”

**Author's Note:**

> Team Poor Sods Who Sold Their Souls to Be My Betas: Erin, Katie & Gillian (I love you sexy bitches with all my heart)  
> Chapter MoodBoard Goddess: Jacki aka regaljacki here on AO3 and Twitter (I literally would murder for you, you gorgeous thing)  
> Story Moodboard by me :) [pats self on back]  
> Come yell at me on Twitter or Tumblr! same username :D
> 
> All chapter moodboards are posted on Twitter and Tumblr, btw.


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